


Fire of the Dragon, Blood of the Queen

by cherryandmapletrees



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 8x06 Fix-it, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Drogon actually avenges his Mama, Fix-It, Gen, Queen Daenerys
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-21
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2020-03-09 06:33:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18911500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryandmapletrees/pseuds/cherryandmapletrees
Summary: Queen Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, Queen of Dragonstone, Queen of Meereen, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, the Unburnt, Breaker of Chains and Mother of Dragons. With fire and blood, she had taken what was stolen from her. She had laid waste to her enemies, burned armies to the ground, and made anyone who had hurt her pay the price.And she would rise again





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So we all know the shitshow that was 8x06. Daenerys has been my favorite character since episode one, and I am broken at the loss of my Queen.
> 
> So of course I had to fix it. 
> 
> Shout-out to shrugheadjonesthethird for once again being my lovely beta and indulging my grief. Love you Mama 💚
> 
> Shout-out to my roommate for putting up with me while I cried myself sick for three hours 🖤
> 
> And shout-out to Ramsey, the wonderful motherfucker who got me into this shitshow that destroyed my soul in the first place. Love you bud ❤️

She had finally done it.

 

Daenerys Targaryen had finally won back the Iron Throne. She had  _ finally  _ won her birthright, after so many years of fighting for it, so much fire, so much blood.

 

She had won.

 

Jon had come to her in the throne room just as her fingers finally brushed the cold surface, a smile stretching across her face.She had asked him to join her, to rule by her side. To help her break the wheel, to restore order and peace to the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros; to restore the Targaryen House to its rightful place.

 

He had declared her his Queen and had kissed her and for a moment, her heart was soaring. Together, they would rebuild Westeros from the ground up. Together, they could continue the Targaryen line and bring honor to a name previously spoken in distaste.

 

And then her eyes flickered open, her body tensing at the sudden pain in her chest.

 

Happiness was rapidly replaced by confusion and betrayal, and she shoved him away from her, her hands automatically moving to her chest, where he had buried his blade, still gripped in his hand.

 

The one person she had trusted, the man she loved, the man she wanted to rule by her side, stabbed her as he kissed her. Sworn his loyalty to her and betrayed her in the same moment.

 

The ultimate betrayal. One more on top of all of the betrayals she had been handed. One more loss on top of all of the losses she had suffered.

 

She heard the cry of her dragon, her  _ son _ , off in the distance, almost as if he had felt his mother’s pain, and she thought she could hear the sound of his wings unfurling, of him coming to her.

 

Jon hadn’t moved from where she’d shoved him away, his eyes wide in horror and regret.

 

“I’m sorry, Dany. I had no choice.”

 

“You had every choice.” She spat, her vision already starting to blur. He hadn’t immediately killed her, as she was sure had been his intention, but he had most definitely struck a fatal blow. 

 

Drogon flew over the edge of the ruined throne room, screeching and forcing himself between Daenerys and Jon, curling his body around her and the Iron Throne, protecting her, guarding her, saving her. The only one she could ever fully trust, her son.

 

Her breath was already coming in shorter bursts, and she thought she heard an almost whining sound coming from Drogon. Her fingers brushed against his scales, feeling the heat that always seemed to rest just beneath the surface of them.

 

She straightened her spine and turned her back to Jon, facing the Throne. Her birthright. Her whole life, she had only heard about the Throne. Her childhood had been filled with stories of how the Targaryens had been wronged, how they had their livelihood and their claim--their throne--stripped from them.

 

Viserys had whined about the Throne his entire life, to the point that it had driven him mad, even though he’d always been a little touched. He had drilled it into Daenerys that it was their birthright, their claim. When he was eleven, before his quest for the Throne had turned him vindictive and angry, he had told her  _ “Dany, if I don’t make it to the Throne, you must. We  _ must  _ restore the Targaryen name to the Throne. With fire and blood, we will take what is ours.”  _

 

Who was she to deny him that? To deny her House the recognition they deserved, after so many years of contempt towards their name.

 

With slow, measured steps, she moved towards the Iron Throne, Drogon shifting with her, continually keeping her protected from Jon. 

 

Her fingers curled around the armrest of the Throne, the cold metal stinging her hands, and she drew in a deep breath, turning and slowly sitting, her head beginning to spin from the blood loss. 

 

Now she had made it. She was here.

 

Queen Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, Queen of Dragonstone, Queen of Meereen, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, the Unburnt, Breaker of Chains and Mother of Dragons.

 

With fire and blood, she had taken what was stolen from her. She had laid waste to her enemies, burned armies to the ground, and made anyone who had hurt her pay the price.

 

She had risen above the abuse of her brother, taken the situation he had forced her in and turned it for the better, becoming the Khaleesi of her Dothraki. 

 

She had survived her husband’s death, and the death of her unborn child. 

 

She had risen from the ashes, unharmed, unburnt, the Mother of Dragons. 

 

She had fought, and bled, and cried, and sacrificed, and  _ lost _ , but she had made it.

 

_ She had won. _

 

Her eyes focused on Jon now, who was still staring at her, afraid to move closer, afraid to run. 

 

Her breath was wheezing, each one harder to draw in.

 

“I wanted you to help me, Jon Snow. I wanted you to rule by my side and help me. I thought you were a good man. Now it turns out you’re nothing but a  _ bastard _ . I loved you, I protected you, I saved you. I would have given you the Throne, if you had but asked. And yet, you betray me in the same breath you swear loyalty to me, tell me I am your Queen. You are not worthy of the Targaryen name, you are not worthy of our birthright.” 

 

Drogon was still wrapped around her, keeping her safe, his head just behind her shoulder, and she could feel herself fading. Her body was growing colder, her vision blurring, her thoughts sluggish, and her breath slowing more and more each time.

 

She spoke one final word. One word, fittingly in the language of her homeland, and with the conviction and power of a Queen behind it. Her voice didn’t waver or crack, but spoke smoothly, clearly.

 

“ **_Dracarys._ ** ”

 

Her eyes fluttered closed as Drogon roared, his fire surrounding her, all focused on Jon. She didn’t even hear him start to scream, her breath stilled, her body empty, her soul gone.

 

With fire and blood, she had won, and with fire and blood, she died.

 

\--

 

Once Jon’s body was nothing more than smoldering remains, Drogon carefully nudged his mother’s body, trying to wake her.

 

When she didn’t stir, the whole of what was left of Westeros said they could hear his cries, and they all saw the fire engulf the throne room.

 

What they didn’t see was Drogon carefully lifting his mother’s body into his claw, lifting her away from the Throne she had fought so hard for before he unleashed his torrent of fire, melting the Iron Throne until nothing remained but a pool of molten iron.

 

Nor did they see him fly away, launching his body into the clouds and flying far from Westeros, to the lands of Old Valyria. 

 

No one after that knew what happened to Daenerys or her dragon, and none of them much cared.

 

Perhaps they should have.

 

\--

 

Drogon laid Daenerys’ body gently in the center of the ruined city of Valyria, the once great city of dragons. Her blood had stopped flowing eventually, but it still covered her chest. He nudged her body once more, hoping to somehow wake her, but to no avail. She was still, cold, empty.

 

He had cried for her then, his fire washing over the city with no aim, setting anything that could burn ablaze. He curled his body around her, determined to still protect her, even at the end. 

 

The fire burned around them far into the night, only extinguishing sometime just before dawn.

 

A body shifted in the ashes that covered the Mother of Dragons and her son, shaking off the thin layer of ash.

 

Green eyes flickered open, staring at the sky.

 

As the dragons who had been said to have been long dead were reborn through the fire, as was the Mother of Dragons.

 

Through fire and blood, she had fought.

 

Through fire and blood, she had won.

 

Through fire and blood, she had died.

 

And through the fire of the Dragon and the blood of the Queen, she was reborn.

 

And she, Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, Queen of Dragonstone, Queen of Meereen, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, the Unburnt, Breaker of Chains and Mother of Dragons, would rise again.


	2. Arise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Targaryen girl, born in a storm and died in a storm, they all said. A fitting end. 
> 
> They wrote Daenerys off, never speaking her name, never searching for her nor her last dragon. She was dead, and her dragon would die with her, the last of the Targaryen House. There was no reason to remember her, the Last Dragon.
> 
> They would learn their mistake. 
> 
> For that night, though she had died, the storm was not for her death.
> 
> That night, she would awaken again.
> 
> She would be born, in a storm, once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Thank you so much for all of your patience in waiting for this next chapter, life threw an absolute curveball at me and it took me for forever to get this out. But it's here now! Enjoy <3 
> 
> Special thanks to shrugheadjonesthethird for once again being my amazing beta!
> 
> Find me on Tumblr at dragonstone-fire or queen-daenerys-stormborn

The force of Drogon’s wings pushing through the air was a sharp contrast to the gentleness with which he cradled his Mother’s body in his claw, protecting her even in death.

 

Instinctively, he knew to fly to the city of Old Valyria, the once great city of dragons and home of the Targaryens. Something within the city called to him, something stirring in his blood, deep in his bones.

 

The call of home.

 

The birthplace of Queen Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, Queen of Dragonstone, Queen of Meereen, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, the Unburnt, Breaker of Chains and Mother of Dragons.

 

A fitting place to lay the Queen to rest.

 

He curled his claws in tighter against his chest, pulling her body closer to his. He had flown far from Westeros, far from the charred remains of King’s Landing, far from the melted Iron Throne and the smoldering body of Daenerys’ murderer.

 

And still he followed the call of Valyria. The call of her home.

 

He laid her body gently in the center of the destroyed city, her silver hair spread around her head like a halo. Gently nudging her body again, he attempted to wake her one last time, but his attempt was futile. She just laid there, cold and still, her blood still covering her chest. He let out a low, grumbling whine that rapidly morphed into a roaring cry, his fire washing over the area, engulfing anything that could still ignite. The trees, the grass, dragon eggs hidden in various places among the trees that had been forgotten over the many years since the fall of the great city.

 

All of it in a blaze of dragon fire, Drogon curling himself around his mother. He closed his eyes as the inferno raged around them, a heavy sigh echoing.

 

\--

 

It had been said that Daenerys Targaryen had been born on a night plagued by the worst storm seen in history.

 

Stormborn.

 

How fitting that on the night of her death, another storm ripped through Westeros, felt in the remains of King’s Landing, in Winterfell, in the Iron Islands, even as far as Casterly Rock. All of them felt the wrath of the storm. Her storm.

 

The Targaryen girl, born in a storm and died in a storm, they all said. A fitting end. 

 

They wrote Daenerys off, never speaking her name, never searching for her nor her last dragon. She was dead, and her dragon would die with her, the last of the Targaryen House. There was no reason to remember her, the Last Dragon.

 

They would learn their mistake. 

 

For that night, though she had died, the storm was not for her death.

 

That night, she would awaken again.

 

She would be born, in a storm, once again.

 

\--

 

As dawn broke, the storm ended and the fire was nothing more than smoldering embers. Drogon and the Mother of Dragons were covered in a thin layer of ash from the fire that had somehow burned even through the rain and the screaming winds.

 

There was a shifting beneath the ash, and Drogon lifted his head, staring intently at where his Mother lay.

 

With a gentle sweep of his head, he cleared the ash from her, nudging her shoulder once more, in hopes of reviving her.

 

Unlike his other attempts to wake her, this time her eyes flickered open and she drew in a deep, sudden breath. 

 

As the dragons who had been said to have been long dead were reborn through the fire, so was the Mother of Dragons.

 

Drogon roared in victory, nudging her happily, helping her to stand. She grabbed onto him, her chest heaving as she attempted to calm her breathing. Her hands went to her chest, the blood washed clean from her skin by the rain, her clothes burned away in the dragon fire. Her eyes darted around, gathering an image of her surroundings.

 

When Daenerys realized she was home in Valyria, she relaxed, knowing no enemies would have been left alive to find her and hurt her here, that if any had been here, her faithful son would have killed them to protect her.

 

She supported herself on Drogon, leaning into him as she struggled to hold back tears.

 

She had lost everything, again.

 

Drogo, her husband, her first love, lost to the betrayal of a witch.

 

Rhaego, her first son, lost in the same way as his father.

 

Viserys, her brother, lost in his own greed and lust for power.

 

Rhaegal, her son, lost in battle to the Iron Fleet.

 

Viserion, her son, lost in battle, lost again to the Night King.

 

Missandei, her best friend, her confidant, lost to the Mad Queen, Cersei Lannister.

 

Jorah, her protector, her loyal companion, her friend, lost in the battle against the Night King.

 

Jon, her last love, her betrayer. Her murderer.

 

Her life.

 

She had died, this she knew. She had been somewhere, seen her family, her loved ones. Felt once again the embrace of her husband, the gentle touch of Missandei’s hand in hers, the loyalty and love of Jorah, the warm scales of her children as they greeted her. And then she had felt the warmth of her son’s fire, the cold of the rain, and she had awoken.

 

Daenerys Targaryen was alive. 

 

They had tried to kill her. And they had failed.

 

And now they would all pay for their betrayal.

 

Daenerys became aware of a rustling, clicking sound, soft and quiet all around her and Drogon. A familiar sound, from years ago. She lifted her head, still leaning on him for support as she got her strength back. Her eyes widened in shock at the sight in front of her, and she nearly fell again.

 

Dragons.

 

Little baby dragons, in a rainbow of vibrant colors. Dozens of them, all rustling around and moving towards her, making the quiet clicking sounds she remembered from when Drogon and his brothers had been this small. There must have been dragon eggs left from the great city, hidden away in the trees from before the dragons had all died off, petrified and turned to stone just as hers had been. 

 

But alive now. Just like her.

 

They all crowded around her, rubbing against her, clicking and purring, their wings rustling. She knelt down and held out her hands to them, smiling when they came forward and brushed themselves against her hands, her ankles, climbing onto her and rubbing against her skin with their wings and noses. 

 

Looking down at her hands showed her just how dirty she was, ash from Drogon’s fire and blood from Jon’s betrayal still on her skin. She needed to clean up. 

 

She stood slowly, her new dragons still clinging to her, and walked carefully towards the nearest source of water. She felt the dragons who hadn’t managed to climb onto her following behind her, Drogon trailing behind her as well, his nose bumping against her shoulder every once in a while, as if to reassure himself that she was really alive again. 

 

She moved towards the water, her new dragons letting go of her and dropping to the ground as she submerged herself, washing her skin clean. She ran her fingers through her hair, stopping when she got a look at it. What was once as silver as the moon was now black as the darkest night, veins of what looked like dragonfire running through it like molten metal. It wouldn’t wash out, no matter how hard she scrubbed. 

 

She resigned herself to it, dark hair and dragonfire for a Dragon Queen. If anything, it separated her from the legacy of the Mad King and made her her own person. A Queen of Dragons, Mother of Dragons. 

 

Her mind was working while she cleaned herself off, already planning and scheming. Once her new dragons could fly, which would be very soon, they’d fly for Dragonstone. A safe haven for her, and somewhere she could send for her remaining Unsullied and Dothraki, to tell them that she was alive and needed them. 

 

Somewhere safe she could prepare for her revenge.


End file.
